The Holy Woman

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  ‘I know, my sister, but you will have to bear it. You will get used to it soon.’

  ‘Never! Never!’ Zarri Bano’s harsh voice tripped over a lump rising in her throat as she turned her face away from Sakina, hiding her vulnerability.

  ‘You’ll change, Zarri Bano, I can personally assure you. I went through this phase that you are going through. It is a moment in time only, my friend. Like all phases of time, it brings with it emotions, pains and heartaches. For you, life will never be the same,’ she promised. ‘You’ll have the most exciting time you can imagine. You’ll become knowledgeable about Islam – a scholar. You’ll have followers – respect, dignity, honour and fame. I have all that. I could never have had it, if I had just married like an ordinary woman, and had a family.’

  ‘Sister Sakina, I don’t want respect, honour or fame! I want to be my normal self – an ordinary woman,’ said Zarri Bano, her voice quivering with emotion.

  ‘Once I said the same, Sister Zarri Bano. Later I changed my tune. I have never regretted it and you’ll not regret it either, my sister. Of course, occasionally there will be pangs of nostalgia, that is quite normal. You’ll feel those when you see women surrounded by their children, or when they are having an intimate tête-à-tête with their husbands. But those losses are just a drop in the ocean, compared with what you will gain. You’ll have freedom and independence. I have travelled all over the world. I have studied at university. I have been to international conferences. Could I have done all this if I was tied to a husband and a family? I tell you this to make you feel better, to convey to you that the gains of becoming a Shahzadi Ibadat surpass by miles the losses you make.’

  Listening politely to Sakina and letting her words wash over her, Zarri Bano couldn’t hold back her agonised cry. ‘All I know is that,’ she pinched a fold of the burqa in front of Sakina, ‘with this cloth, Zarri Bano is dead. The woman who lived in this room for the past twenty-seven years, is gone. I have been stripped of my identity and a stranger is taking my place. I am, at this moment in time, wrestling with the death and mourning of one woman, while preparing in fear for the birth and rise of another. I don’t want Zarri Bano to die! But I cannot keep her alive. I have to part with the woman in love, Sister Sakina, in order to fall in with my father’s aspirations and wishes and our clan’s customs. You know why this is so, because the same must have happened to you. This is in order to guard our inheritance, our precious land, which will be penned to my name, by the time this day ends. I don’t want the fields or to become the heiress, Sister Sakina – but then, that is beside the point, isn’t it? It has been willed by my father and grandfather that I will be made the heiress and the Holy Woman.’ She took in a deep and shuddering breath.

  ‘But I have my pride too, Sister Sakina!’ she went on passionately. ‘Nobody can take that away from me. I will not do all their bidding. There is a bit of Zarri Bano that I will retain for all time, even though I will kill and bury the rest. And that is my personal pride and integrity! If you’ll excuse me, Sister Sakina, I have something to do before I go down. I will not go down as a bride-cum-nun – I can only be one, not both!’ Her eyes sparkled in her flushed face.

  Sakina stared back, dumbfounded. ‘Yes of course. Will you be all right?’ she asked meekly.

  ‘Yes!’ Flashing her most beguiling smile at Sakina, Zarri Bano’s cheeks dimpled. Sakina immediately felt better.

  Now fully in control of the situation once more. ‘I will call you when I am ready,’ Zarri Bano gently informed her visitor.

  Sakina left the room and stood outside in the corridor, talking to Ruby.

  Inside the room, Zarri Bano threw the burqa off onto the bed. With quick deft movements, she removed each piece of jewellery from her neck, ears, arms and fingers. Slipping out of the red bridal outfit, comprising of a long sequinned pleated skirt, with a short matching tunic, she stood tall in her ivory silk slip in front of the mirror and surveyed herself.

  Next she unpinned the wavy coils of her hair piled high in a becoming regal style. Shaking her head, Zarri Bano let the heavy silky curtain fall around her shoulders. She gazed at herself for long poignant seconds in the mirror, etching forever the picture of her face onto her mind.

  Then, taking a large pair of scissors from the dressing-table drawer and holding her hair in a heavy bunch at the top of her head, Zarri Bano sheared it across with a strong steady movement. Eight inches of glossy hair fluttered in feathery bunches on to the marble floor. Zarri Bano glanced again at the image in the mirror. Like a newly hatched chicken, her hair stuck out in an unbecoming style around her face.

  Not recognising herself Zarri Bano stared, mesmerised by her appearance. Then, taking a tissue, she wiped her face clean of all traces of make-up.

  Satisfied with her work, she slipped the burqa back over her head, feeling much lighter now. There were no pins digging into her scalp, no necklace painfully bruising her neck, no heavy bangles weighing down her arms, and no heavily embroidered outfit being crushed by her cloak.

  The cloak hid the shape of her body totally. ‘I could be fifteen stones in weight and obese, but nobody would know the difference,’ Zarri Bano mused. In effect nobody would ever guess that apart from a silky slip and other pieces of lingerie, she wore nothing else.

  ‘Ruby,’ Zarri Bano called. She wasn’t ready to face Sakina yet.

  Ruby came running in, then stopped – transfixed. She bravely battled with the image of her sister in the burqa, her lips quivering with distress.

  Zarri Bano read and analysed the fleeting expressions chasing over her younger sister’s face. First there was shock, then an urgent wrestling with her facial muscles as Ruby tried desperately to smile at her sister, and failed miserably.

  Her heart sinking, Zarri Bano looked sadly at her sister’s face.

  ‘Ruby, you are my mirror,’ she whispered. ‘I think what you think. I feel what you feel, my darling.’

  ‘Have you not seen yourself?’ Ruby gulped.

  ‘No,’ came the sad reply, prompting Zarri Bano to move away from the tall mirror.

  Suddenly, Ruby shrieked in horror as she spotted the hair on the floor. Squatting down, she picked up the soft waves and held them out to Zarri Bano. ‘Why have you done this to your hair, Baji Jan?’ she questioned in shock.

  ‘What use is it, under this burqa?’

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Ruby fingered the silky waves in her hand. Then her eyes fell on the jewellery scattered on the dressing table and the bridal outfit thrown on the armchair. She turned a look of sheer incredulity at her sister.

  ‘I can either be a Holy Woman or a bride, Ruby. I cannot be dressed for both,’ explained Zarri Bano. ‘These things are yours to inherit – my trousseau as well as my waves. You always envied me my hair. Now you can pin the waves to your head, for you will not have to hide your hair.’

  With firm dignified steps, Zarri Bano went out into the corridor. Sakina was amazed at the transformation she saw there. The tension, the misery, the devastation had indeed been killed off! Zarri Bano’s poignant words that ‘Zarri Bano was dead’ and that ‘now a stranger had taken her place’, darted back in Sakina’s mind. A stranger did indeed stand in front of her! For who else could look as serene as this woman did, after the heartbreaking scene they had earlier shared in her bedroom?

  ‘Are you ready to go down, Zarri Bano?’ Sakina smiled at the young woman, offering her hand to her.

  For one electric moment, Zarri Bano’s heart skipped a beat. Then, in control once more, she inclined her head proudly.

  ‘Yes, Sister Sakina. Thank you for coming to see me, and talking to me. We are two souls locked together by our special fate.’ The wooden words didn’t manage to mask the sorrow in her tone.

  ‘There is no need to thank me, my beautiful sister.’ Sakina saw with wonder that Zarri Bano’s beauty would shine through like a beacon, in all its glory, even in a burqa.

  Sakina called to Ruby. The girl came out of the bedroom, still r
eeling from the shock of knowing that her sister was almost half naked under her burqa and her hair was shorn. She stared bemused at the two head-to-toe black-clad women.

  ‘Are you all right, Baji Jan?’ she asked in a voice thick with tears, her eyes on Zarri Bano’s face.

  ‘I am fine.’ Zarri Bano pressed her sister’s hand. ‘Be assured that I will not let you, our father, or the clan down,’ she whispered in Ruby’s ear, pushing aside her earring. ‘I will go through with it.’

  ‘I know you will, my dear sister, but I don’t want you to go through with it! I just wish to God that it was a bad dream and that I would wake up with a sigh of relief.’

  ‘It is no dream, Ruby, my sister – I should know! Have I not wished a hundred times to wake up from this nightmare that has tormented me for the past two months? It is happening, Ruby. Wake up!’ The bitter edge to her tone marred the smile she flashed for Sakina’s benefit.

  ‘Let’s then go and get this farce over with,’ Zarri Bano mumbled to no one in particular as she started to walk down the stairs.

  Chapter 20

  TOGETHER, ZARRI BANO, Sakina and Ruby descended the wide circular staircase. An eager entourage of women and children awaited at the foot of the stairs, supposedly to catch their first glimpse of the Holy Woman in her ceremonial veil. Weddings were a common affair. This, however, was a very rare event and seeing Zarri Bano, the glamorous daughter of Habib Khan, become a Holy Woman and in a burqa was an event indeed.

  Zarri Bano didn’t disappoint them! Her eyes flickering cynically over their excited faces, she smiled becomingly, acutely aware of the spectacle that she and her sister made.

  What a contrasting pair! the women thought. Both sisters were beautiful, one looking her best in her special party outfit for the occasion, while the other was enveloped in a shapeless black cloak, with ninety per cent of her body totally hidden from sight.

  Crowding together and leaning over each other’s shoulders, the women guests perked their ears, trying to listen to the chink of Zarri Bano’s gold bangles. They were sure that she was wearing gold jewellery under the burqa, because they had seen it displayed in the marquee. ‘Pity she didn’t come down in her finery and show herself off before she got into that black crow’s outfit,’ mumbled one woman to her friend in exasperation, feeling cheated.

  In the large drawing room, Zarri Bano’s arrival had already been announced prior to her entering it. As the sisters stood on the threshold, all eyes turned with a hypnotic stare in their direction.

  Gazing steadily in front of her, Zarri Bano saw rather than heard the guests take an in-drawn breath, knowing she had indeed created a spectacle. Nobody had ever glimpsed Zarri Bano in a burqa before. Nor would they have expected it of her in a hundred years for, amongst Habib’s clan, she had the reputation of being the elegant and fashionable one, on whose head the dupatta never stayed in place. Also, she was the one reputed to turn men’s heads.

  Now seeing her dressed in such severity, some of the guests, both men and women, felt ill at ease as the stark implication behind the ceremony suddenly came pressing heavily down on them. The ceremonial trappings in the room were reminiscent of a wedding. Yet it wasn’t a wedding they were gracing with their presence. There was no groom to congratulate or happily garland with money. Nor a coy bride to admire in her splendid bridal finery. Just a beautiful woman hidden from sight in a severe-looking black cloak, with a very unbecoming slit for her face. Today it was an upside down world.

  Stunned, and with her mouth half open, Gulshan, Zarri Bano’s cousin, sat next to her mother with the other guests. She had earlier helped to dress Zarri Bano, but now she found it difficult to come to terms with her cousin in a burqa. An envious admirer of Zarri Bano, she had spent much of her short life hating and admiring her cousin for her good looks, poise and finesse.

  Her envy dated back to her childhood days. Gulshan had always felt overshadowed by Zarri Bano, to such an extent that she had found it almost painfully claustrophobic to be in the same room as her cousin. Sharing Zarri Bano’s traits of arrogance and vanity, she, nevertheless lacked her wit, charisma and beauty.

  When Gulshan had first heard of Zarri Bano becoming a Holy Woman, she had felt a jolt of perverse delight, followed by guilt. Like everyone else in the hall, she had waited with bated breath to see if Zarri Bano would actually do it, would actually come down in a burqa as a Holy Woman.

  Now as she beheld her in the black sack-like cloak, a storm of feelings rent Gulshan apart. Instead of gloating, she was overcome by horror and compassion. It is an outrage! she thought shakily. The other woman is suited to the part, but not our Zarri Bano. Tears pricking her eyelids, she longed to shout out to the guests: ‘Don’t do this to our Zarri Bano, please!’

  Her lips, however, remained sealed, bound by centuries old patriarchal customs and conventions of female silence and obedience. What could she do, anyway, if Zarri Bano’s own mother and sister had been powerless to help? She cast a surreptitious glance at her grandfather, her Uncle Habib and her father. An aggressive vehicle in full motion, well engineered and oiled, the ceremony was rapidly heading for its inevitable destination. Gulshan, as a mere young woman, was just a small pebble in the company of giant rocks, to be easily trodden upon and crushed if the need arose.

  Gulshan noticed the broad-shouldered young man who sat with his mother in the same row of chairs as herself. He, too, was watching the proceedings with a hypnotic fascination. Gulshan admired his clean, good-looking profile. A flutter of attraction curling inside her, she marvelled: ‘Does Zarri Bano feel nothing for this man?’

  The man whose looks had attracted Gulshan was, however, receiving glances from a number of people. It seemed so strange, for if Jafar had not died, it would have been Sikander sitting next to Zarri Bano as a groom. This was kismet indeed!

  Immune to all the interested glances cast his way, Sikander’s eyes remained fixed on the black-cloaked woman. Could that be Zarri Bano? His mind wrestled with the image. This figure bore no resemblance to the woman he knew and had desired. He recalled her peach-like skin, her glossy curls, her feminine curves – where was everything? He clamped down on the insatiable urge to rush up to her and tear the ugly garment violently aside from her body. In vain he tried to reason with himself as to why he was reacting so strongly. Older women had worn the burqa for centuries. Most women, in certain sectors of Pakistani society, still wore them, but he could not bear to see his Zarri Bano dressed that way.

  Sikander riveted his steel-grey gaze on Habib – the master puppeteer in this macabre theatre. Tasting gall in his mouth, Sikander felt the heat of hate rush to his cheeks.

  His eyes on his eldest daughter, Habib pretended to be oblivious of Sikander’s stare and his animosity. Like everyone else in the hall he, too, was shaken by Zarri Bano’s appearance in the burqa, but he managed to keep his face poker straight as he sat with his father, Siraj Din, his brother and another village elder.

  Facing the four seated figures of the men on the stage was the group of women, comprising of Zarri Bano, Ruby, Shahzada, Sakina, an elder aunt of Zarri Bano’s and Chaudharani Kaniz from the village. The latter, as the late landlord’s wife, had been given the special honour of sitting on the stage.

  The stage was set up at the top end of the hall. Like the rest of the room, it was elaborately festooned with balloons, colourful bulbs and streamers. A special red floral Persian silk carpet graced its floor. Near Habib and the other members of his family sat two village elders on a large velour-backed chaise longue. In the centre of the stage stood a mahogany coffee table with a large bouquet of fresh flowers in a vase. Next to it, on an elegantly carved walnut trellis, rested a large Holy Quran with an exquisitely hand-painted cover. Facing the stage, on rows of velvet-backed chairs, sat the guests.

  Coughing to draw attention to himself, Habib stood up to face his audience. Zarri Bano sat with her dark head lowered, gazing down at the silk Persian carpet. Clearing his throat, her father began.


  ‘Welcome everybody, my brothers and sisters, relatives and friends, to my daughter’s ceremony. I am most honoured to have you here today. For those guests who arrived a few days ago, I hope you have enjoyed your stay in my home. For those of you who have arrived today, I hope that you will be able to stay with us for a couple of days, at least, and accept our humble hospitality.’

  ‘I have invited the most revered of all the buzurgs in our district to perform this ceremony. He has been connected with my family and clan for a long, long time. Of course, as you are probably aware, the ceremony that you are about to witness is not a typical wedding ceremony, or an engagement party. It is peculiar to our clan and we are very proud of it. It elevates, in a unique way, our women into a role far beyond the common lot of women. My beautiful eldest daughter …’ He glanced at Zarri Bano with love shining out of his eyes.

  ‘My Zarri Bano is to be my heiress, our Holy Woman. She will become a scholar of Islam, a moral and religious tutor for hundreds of younger women in our town and province: a female symbol of purity and Ibadat in its purest form. Eventually, we hope, she will have her own school of thought, her own madrasa or college. She will return to university and study Islam at a higher degree level. To these ends I am thinking of sending her to Misr, Cairo University, which is the oldest Islamic university in the Muslim world. As part of her new life, she will attend Islamic conferences around the world – whenever or wherever they are offered. She will be under the wing of another Holy Woman – Sakina, who is a good friend of our family. Mohtarama Sakina is going to initiate my daughter into her new role. For, you see, it is not an easy matter to become a Holy Woman, as there is so much to learn and many expectations to fulfil. In fact, it is a new life.’

  ‘The only difference is that in order for my Zarri Bano to do all of this, she will not have the time or the will for mundane things – the everyday things.’